


Of Monsters And Beasts

by j_gabrielle



Series: Potter's Hand [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, ambiguous consent, but for the sake of safety, mentions of cannibalism, mentions of parenticide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 14:20:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/762313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_gabrielle/pseuds/j_gabrielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Filled in part for <a href="http://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org/1375.html?thread=215391#cmt21539">this prompt on the kink meme</a></p><p>Wistfully, Hannibal yearns for the day he paints the lines of Will’s body with the hot slick blood of his first kill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Monsters And Beasts

**Author's Note:**

> Hannibal is about 40 and Will is in his mid to late teens.
> 
> I tried.

The couch is beyond saving now. Ruined, cum soaked, stained in places that Hannibal himself isn’t quite sure how they happened. He reckons he will either have to throw it out, reupholster it entirely. It’s a pity, really. His favourite shade of brown looks wonderful against that blue.

Will is panting, legs spread wide with one hooked over an arm of the couch, glasses a skewed. His wild curls finger mussed and spiked in a million different directions. Thin rivulets of cum streak the insides of his slender thighs and the doctor resist the urge to spread them further, to see his latest masterpiece. Fucked out, Hannibal believes, is the correct description.

There are blossoms of red on his hips that will bruise deliciously. Hannibal smiles at the thought of pressing down on them later when Mrs. Graham comes to fetch her son. The illicit nature of their little dalliance does not escape him. He is old enough to be the child’s father (the greys he tries but can’t quite hide and the lines on his face), but right now with his boy here, Hannibal feels years younger. Their time is always limited; every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon after Will’s school lets out for the day. Two hours, every session to cure him of his social awkwardness as per his parents’ request.

“Did I hurt you?” He asks, pushing Will’s sweaty bangs out of his face. Gently, he rubs circles into the jut of Will’s hipbone, tracing the borders of his fingerprints.

The boy sighs softly, stretching languidly, curling his body against Hannibal’s own sweat chilled side. “No, I’m alright. Just a little sore but that’s nothing a good hot bath can’t cure.” Arching his neck, he shyly angles his head for a kiss which Hannibal gives readily. “You could draw me one?” Bright eyes look up hopefully, darting to the non-descript door tucked in the corner of the room.

As much as he would like to pamper his boy, Hannibal knows that time was running out for them. Besides, Will seems to like wearing Hannibal’s seed on his skin like a badge of honour. The idea of introducing him to butt plugs flit through his mind. Should be fun, Hannibal muses, leisurely perusing the mental image of Will’s rim stretched bloodless white around a large black plug. Dropping his hand to the back of Will’s neck, he gently squeezed, smirking when he feels the full body shudder. Three years, and still Will is just as responsive, as willing, as _eager_ as the first time he touched him.

The Grahams had thought that their son was too shy, too awkward. Not the perfect Mall of America son they had so hoped for. Through their talks, Hannibal theorizes that it must be an idea placed in their minds by their peers. They were from new money and their eagerness to please their ‘friends’ seem to outweigh any sense of care for their only child’s wellbeing. The poor thing had been relegated to the care of nannies and maids for the better part of his childhood, which would explain why Will carries an ingrained need to please and satisfy those in a position of authority in his life. There was nothing wrong with Will, but Hannibal wasn’t about to tell them that.

Will sighs once more, extricating himself from Hannibal’s arms. Slowly, he gingerly gets to his feet. Hannibal feels a strange trill of pride when his movements cause new rivulets of cum to drip and map his skin. Bare backing was Will’s idea, not that Hannibal was complaining. He has always been an advocate of condoms, but a bigger fan of the sensations he feels whenever he slides into welcoming flesh unhindered by barriers. Will was a virgin when they’d met, a virgin when he’d first taken him over his grand mahogany desk with his school pants barely down around his knees.  

“I wish we didn’t have to hide. I want to be with you without getting either one of us into trouble.” Will whispers, hands falling to his side as Hannibal comes to help him with his school tie. He is mostly dressed now. Wordlessly, Hannibal hands him the comb he keeps in his desk drawer. It’s an old argument, one they’ve rehashed time and time again. They both know that this _thing_ that has been growing between them, the progression from lust and passion, can never see the light of day. “I love—“

“Don’t say it.” Hannibal cuts him off quietly. Will looks hurt, but it quickly passes and he turns away to pick up Hannibal’s own tie. They move in tandem, like a well practised dance, armouring up to fit into society’s ideals. Will avoids his eyes, something Hannibal was sure he had broken him of, and so he tilts Will’s face up, cupping his jaw. Pressing their foreheads together, “You know I feel the same way. You’ve known from the start that I would give anything to have you by my side always.” His words seem to placate him, but Hannibal is not fooled. His boy is sharp and cunning, relentless in his pursuits. He will strike another match under this gunpowder keg in an attempt to force Hannibal’s hand.

If he only knew of the designs that Hannibal has planned for the Grahams.

Will’s trust fund is only accessible to him when he turns 18, the rest of his inheritance truly his when he is legally 21. Hannibal has, for most parts, promised that once his boy turns 18 in another year or so, they will be together. What he hasn’t told Will is that once his parents are not longer his legal guardians, Hannibal has plans for stocking up the storage unit he keeps on the edge of town. What he has yet to tell his beloved boy is that he will be helping him skin them.

The little alarm he keeps on the mantelpiece tinkles and signals the end of their session. Outside, they can hear the clack of Mrs. Graham’s heels on the carpet. Will closes his eyes, and Hannibal watches a change come over him; one moment he is the wickedly bright boy that Hannibal is addicted to making love to, and the next he is hunching his shoulders, hiding himself behind his glasses and bangs. It isn’t a new sight to him, but it still amazes him nonetheless. Privately, Hannibal wonders just how much more he could mould his boy.

They walk to the door together, but just before Will turns the doorknob, Hannibal slips his hand around Will’s hip, pressing a kiss to the side of his head.

“I’ll be waiting for you. The second turn on the runner’s trail.” Hannibal breathes.

Slender hands find purchase on his nape, pulling him down for an embrace. They meld their bodies, feeling each other’s heartbeats. “My father’s taking my mother to Paris for their anniversary next month. They’ll be gone for a week.” Will grin is razor sharp, and Hannibal delights in the monster he hides and the beast he has unleashed.

“We’ll talk about that next time, shall we?” Hannibal says in his normal voice as he turns the knob. “Mrs Graham.” He greets.

Will’s mother nods at him distractedly, eyes glued to her phone screen. Hannibal thinks that Will shares her features more so than he does with his father. From the way she is furiously typing, there must be something wrong with the catering for her next dinner party. “Dr. Lecter. Come along now Will.” She waves at her son, getting to her feet and exiting the room. Will waits for her to leave through the door before smirking.

“I’ll see you.” Will says briefly. After a moment of indecision, he tiptoes and steals another kiss, scurrying out the door but not before he catches the blush on Will’s cheeks. The tips of Hannibal’s lips quirk upwards, amused. His boy is ever so young, carrying so much potential. Wistfully, he yearns for the day he paints the lines of Will’s body with the hot slick blood of his first kill.

Smiling serenely, Hannibal returns to his office. The road to corrupting good Will’s soul is looking to be ever so sweet.

[fin.]

**Author's Note:**

> A sequel of sorts can be found [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/764736)


End file.
